


You Couldn't Ignore Me If You Tried

by littlelionheart



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Drabble, F/M, Fluff, Recreational Drug Use, making out under the influence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-20
Updated: 2015-10-20
Packaged: 2018-04-27 06:20:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,915
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5037166
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littlelionheart/pseuds/littlelionheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oddly enough, being forced into spending eight hours with virtual strangers in a confined space makes people overly chatty, all of them just dying to open up and share.</p>
<p>Or maybe it’s just all the pot.</p>
<p>A Breakfast Club AU</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Couldn't Ignore Me If You Tried

There’s a haze around them, the entire chemistry section they’re hiding in going gauzy and soft. Laughter, coming from somewhere far off in another part of the library, breaks through and is immediately followed by giggly shushing. It’s a poor attempt at trying to keep quiet so that their warden doesn’t come in and break up the festivities, but it’s an attempt so maybe the others aren’t that far gone.

The sound is nowhere near Bellamy and Clarke though, who are sitting side by side on the ugly, cheap carpet that all schools seem to have a habit of putting down everywhere there isn't equally ugly and cheap tile. Bellamy looks over at her, taking in her features up close. He can’t really help the small smile that breaks over his face as he looks at her. Clarke Griffin is so different from what he had expected to get stuck with when she’d first walked in, and it’s still taking him by surprise even after all that he’s learned about her in the day they've spent there.

She had her head held high and a deep grimace on her face when he first saw her this morning, something Bellamy had been sure was a result of not only having to spend an entire Saturday at the school library, but also because of the people she would have to spend it with. Spoiled, rich princess.

She seemed to have a distaste for him in particular, as she had given him the once over from the front of the room, taking in his leather jacket that hung from the side of his chair and the scowl that seemed to be a permanent fixture on his face whenever he wasn’t with his sister or Miller. It hadn’t been a reaction he’d be unfamiliar with, but it still pissed him off none the less, though it wasn’t like he had been expecting anything less from someone like her.

Oh, how wrong he was.                                                       

Oddly enough, being forced into spending eight hours with virtual strangers in a confined space makes people overly chatty, all of them just dying to open up and share.

Or maybe it’s just all the pot.

After a morning filled with arguing, yelling, and more than a few near fights, Jasper Jordan had demanded a cease fire. And when that didn’t work, had whipped out a bag of pot and said that if they were stuck with each other, they should at least be stoned.

What followed was one of the most bizarre afternoons Bellamy has ever had.

(He thinks there might have been a dance montage at some point, but he doesn’t really remember... or he's just successfully blocking it out.)

Somehow, he and Clarke had split off from the merry band of juvenile delinquents and found themselves here, just talking about anything and everything and nothing at all. It’s been _nice._

Like he said, weird day.

“…you really want to know what I did to get in here?” he asks after a long moment of companionable silence, blowing out sweet smoke as he offers her the mostly spent joint.

She opens her eyes and lifts her head from the bookcase, her movements lazy and sluggish as she takes it from him. She’s stunning, with her big blue eyes and soft curly blonde hair. She’s like a princess out of the fairytales he used to read to Octavia when she told him she was sick of hearing mythology stories for the millionth time. The princesses that were so pretty they could get anything they wanted, but never would because they were too good. Yeah… Clarke’s like one of those, but with a sword or something.

...okay, that’s definitely the pot talking.

“Are you going to tell the truth this time?” she asks, taking another drag and letting the smoke curl out of her mouth. He has no idea where the hell the others are in the library. He really doesn’t care.

Bellamy hums a yes that dissolves into a low chuckle, his small smile breaking into a full one as the laughter spills out of him. He has no idea why the buzzing hum he just made is hilarious, but it _is_. _Everything_ is hilarious to him at the moment. Clarke is staring at him.

“You’re pretty when you do that,” she says, head tilting to the side. 

“What?”

“Nothing. So… What’d you do?” Clarke asks, sitting up straighter and leaning in slightly, her eyes going wide.

“Don’t look so eager, it’s not like it’s single-handedly beating the shit out of three lacrosse players in the middle of the cafeteria line,” he says with a pointed look and a smile at her. She raises her eyebrows in challenge.

“They deserved it and I regret nothing. Now tell me.”

Bellamy sits up straighter, turning his body toward her.

“You ready for this?”

“Always, Bell. Always,” she says, putting out the remnants of the blunt they’d finished on the metal shelf, making sure it completely died out. She’s talking like she’s known him forever and he refuses to acknowledge how good that makes him feel, warm all the way through his chest.

He pauses for a long moment, letting the suspense build, then answers before she can punch it out of him.

“Nothing.”

A small crease forms between Clarke’s brows as she looks at him, a giggle erupting from her lips despite her frown.

“What?”

“I didn’t do anything. I don’t actually have detention.”

“You… then what are you doing here?”

“Octavia. She’s usually here every Saturday, so I just-”

“Wait, wait, wait… tell me you aren’t saying that you come here _every_ Saturday _._ ”

“Well… yeah. How do you think I learned the trick with the door?”

She’s still staring at him, completely gobsmacked, so he continues.

“I make sure she actually stays put, and to make sure she doesn’t maim Principle Kane if he says something that pisses her off. Sitting in the car for an entire day is ridiculous, so I come inside. Plus it saves me a trip to come back and pick her up.”

“What about Kane? Why does he treat you like he does the rest of us ‘hormone-crazed hooligans’ if you aren’t actually supposed to be here?” she questions, managing a relatively accurate impersonation of the stern principal.

“I think he just assumes I actually have detention.” The unspoken ‘ _like everyone else does’_ does not go unnoticed.

“…What do you even _do_ here every Saturday?”

“I read, usually. Or study. I like the library.”

“Oh my God… you are such a _nerd_.” The word has no bite to it, if anything it comes out impossibly fond. 

“You sound like my sister.” Bellamy says with a roll of his eyes. “Please stop.”

“Have you ever actually gotten a Saturday detention?” Clarke asks incredulously, her body fully turning toward his.

“Never.”

“Wow…” she trails off, letting her body fall once again against the shelves behind them, her arm coming up onto a shelf so she can prop her head up on her hand. “And I thought one mandatory Saturday detention was bad. That’s some commitment. I’m impressed.”

“There’s never anyone in here with her. Well, almost never, and it’s quiet, usually. I get out of the house and don’t have to deal with all the…” Bellamy makes a vague gesture that’s meant to encompass everything and nothing at the same time. “…staring that happens everywhere I go.”

She studies him for a long moment, eyes raking over his features and her face turning contemplative. He looks down at his hands in his lap, extremely conscious of her scrutiny. He can almost feel his hackles starting to rise again. Why the hell did he bring it up? He’d almost been able to have a normal conversation without his status of local pariah becoming an issue and he decides to be an idiot. 

“…is it bothering you now? The staring, I mean.”

He looks back to her, allowing his gaze to meet her’s. There is none of the usual expression that people seem to always wear around him these days, one of pity or fear or a little mix of both. The same expression that people have looked at him with since his mom had gotten sick, and since his subsequent arrests for being a stupid, angry kid who didn't know how to process all the grief and guilt that were swimming around in his head, and so took it all out on local private and public property with a blind fury and Octavia’s softball bat. Even though he’d gotten off with community service and probation, and had not been involved in anything like that in awhile, he’d somehow managed to cultivate a reputation that never really went away.

Instead, her eyes are soft and warm, completely non-judgmental. Bellamy feels like he’s getting a little bit lost in them, actually. A thought, which if uttered out loud in the company of his sister, would get him a punch in the arm for being “gross and sappy” or an “aw, Bell” with a possible pinch to the cheek.

He’s not sure which would be worse.

Hell, he’d want to smack himself for that line of thinking if his head were clearer, but that’s what sober!Bellamy would do. Sober!Bellamy would have cut off this conversation a long time ago. Sober!Bellamy would have never even spoken to Clarke Griffin in the first place, choosing to glare and sneer at her and be a general prick instead. Sober!Bellamy would never ever let himself think about how alike he and Clarke Griffin are, and he certainly wouldn’t have been thinking about how much he likes that fact. Stoned!Bellamy, on the other hand, really just wants to look at Clarke Griffin forever (Which seems completely doable. Bellamy isn’t sure when they moved this close together, but there’s less than half a foot of space between their faces now, and her thigh is pressed against his. He isn’t complaining. Stoned!Bellamy thinks she’s the best view he’s had all day and that her hair smells amazing, lavender and vanilla, he thinks).

He also desperately wants to know what her lips feel like against his.

“Strangely… no.”

Her eyes flick down to his lips before coming back up and settling there. Her voice is huskier when she speaks again.

“That’s good...”

“Yeah?” They’re whispering now, faces close enough that it isn't a strain on either of them to hear the other and their breath mingling together in the waning space between them.

“Yeah.”

______________________________________________________

Bellamy decides the incessant stream of insults, gagging noises, and questions his sister throws at him all the way home after she found Clarke and Bellamy making out in the stacks in various stages of undress, is completely worth it for many, many reasons.

But mostly it’s because Clarke wore his sweater home and she’d told him if he wanted it back, he was going to have to call her so he could come and take it off personally.

(He may have ripped her shirt when they were going at it as well as managing to misplace her bra in the heat of the moment. And if the hickies they were both sporting didn't incite her mother to kill him on the spot, the evidence of the ripped shirt and lack of bra definitely would.)

He definitely called her. And then he took a hell of a lot more off than just the sweater.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is a quote from the movie.


End file.
